


Loyalty

by runnerzero



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, Mildly Dubious Consent, Power Play, Season/Series 04 Spoilers, aka Steve is Sigrid's boy toy and we all know it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 22:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17150327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runnerzero/pseuds/runnerzero
Summary: Set after the S4 finale.Steve Sissay has always been a thing unmoved. He prides himself on that.





	Loyalty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bubosi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubosi/gifts).



> Secret Santa gift for notforconsumption! 
> 
> This is the worst thing I've ever written. Congrats @ me! 
> 
> (Spoilers for the end of S4/very early S5)

_To be an interrogator,_ the instructors at military intelligence always said, _is to be an anchor._ Whatever truths you discover, whatever promises are broken, whatever games are played—though the world might shift beneath you—you know where you stand. You must know who you are. Above all, you must be a thing unmoved.

* * *

Steve Sissay has always been a thing unmoved. He prides himself on that. 

He can only think of three times in his life when he’s been genuinely scared. The first, when he was nine, and his father threw a bottle of whiskey at the wall. The second, when he was seventeen and his uncle handed him a knife and told him it was his turn to finish off the deer—but killing got a lot easier after that. 

The third was when he stepped into the Minister’s new office in Abel Township, unsure if he'd leave it alive. 

“Do you know why I called you in here?” 

“I can’t say that I do, Minister.” 

He can’t help but take another look around her office. It’s barely been a week since the Minister’s forces occupied Abel, but her quarters are already fully built and furnished. The newness is almost intoxicating—the smell of wood dust and polish makes his head spin. The walls are already decorated with photos and awards, all of them dedicated to the Minister. 

She pulls out a chair for him to sit before taking her own seat behind the desk. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says, bowing his head. 

“Oh, please, Steven, we can drop the formalities. I think we’ve moved past that now, don’t you?” 

She smiles and wraps her hand around her glass with an air of leisure as she leans back in her chair. The desk is covered with odds and ends—a few files, stacks of paperwork, a case of pens, and a bottle of what looks like very expensive scotch. 

Steve relaxes in his chair, stretching out his arms as the stiffness of the meeting begins to melt away. 

“I think we’ve moved _far_ past that, wouldn’t you agree, Steven?”

He can’t help but hum in agreement. They crossed that line a long time ago, and there’s no point in trying to go back. Once Sigrid makes up her mind about something, about someone, to change it would be like moving a mountain. It simply can’t be done. 

“Do you know why I hired you?” Her eyes lock onto Steve’s from across the desk.

“To do the jobs no one else will do.” 

“Good,” Sigrid says. She smiles, but something about it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ve always liked how direct you are. Very professional.” 

“Ma’am, is this an urgent meeting? I have a lot of work to do with—”

“Oh don’t be in such a rush, Steven.” She takes her glass and pours in more of the scotch. “Patience is a virtue, after all.” 

“Of course.” 

Sigrid picks up the scotch and takes a drink. Just a small sip, and then she rolls the rest of the drink in the glass. She doesn’t look at Steve when she holds the glass out to him. “Celebrate a little?”

He takes it and hesitates a little, then tries for a joke. “Trying to get me drunk?” 

Sigrid smiles and pours herself another glass. “What if I am?”

She flashes him a look over the desk, raking her eyes up and down his chest. He only then realizes that he's wearing the shirt and tie she got for him a few weeks back, the one custom fitted to his measurements. He never liked the phrase ‘undressing with the eyes,’ but there's no better way to describe the way she stares at him now, picking him apart with just a look. 

“You know, I don’t think I’ve told you how much I appreciate you,” Sigrid says. She takes another sip, every movement carefully measured. “On the eve of yet another victory, I feel it bears repeating.” 

Steve swallows as she looks at him with hooded eyes. “Thank you, Minister.” 

“Don’t play coy, Mr. Sissay,” she says now, settling deeper in her chair. Her foot moves closer to his, and his breath stops when she begins to caress his leg. 

Steve tightens his expression, trying to hide the rush that goes through him, but he knows she sees it. There’s no denying it—she’s seen it too many times before. As he leans into her touch, he makes a decision. Maybe it’s a poor one, but he’s willing to ignore the risks. It’s been too long, he needs this. He misses this. 

He doesn’t realize he’s standing up and moving around the desk until they’re face to face. Sigrid puts her drink down and rises with him, still smiling. He doesn’t realize he’s backing her up against the wall until they’re already there, and she’s running her fingers through his hair, tugging him forward until they’re pressed flush against each other. 

From where their lips meet, he can feel her grinning against him. “How long have you been waiting for this?” she asks, and his silence is an answer in and of itself. 

Sigrid takes his tie into her hand, the fabric looped around her knuckles twice. He makes a noise, but he’s not caught off guard—he never is. 

Steve reaches for the buttons of her collared shirt, but she brushes him away. “No, keep it on.” 

“But—” He’s cut off by a hand around his neck. Not choking him, but just resting there, as a reminder. 

He’s much taller than her, more muscular. Steve knows he’s always cut a lean, imposing figure, but he has none of the power right now and they both know it.

Her fingers reach to unbuckle his belt before he even notices, and he bites back a whimper in the back of his throat when she reaches into his pants to grasp his dick. His head falls to press against her shoulder. 

Sigrid starts stroking him with slow pumps, her grip just tight enough to feel good, but too slow to give him any real relief. “Steven?” she asks, her breath washing over his neck. 

“Ma’am,” he says, and his voice cracks on the word. He’s always taken pride in how composed he stays during sex, and the way she breaks that control so easily makes his legs feel weak. 

“There’s something I need to know.” 

A careful exhale, and then an inhale. He can smell her perfume. Tasteful and sweet. “What is it?”

“Where do your loyalties lie, Steven?”

His throat clenches when he swallows, and judging by the flicker of Sigrid’s gaze, she sees it. 

“With you,” he says, hips twitching into her hand when she speeds up. 

“Only me?” He’s not looking her in the eyes, but he can hear the satisfied smile in her voice. 

“Yes, ma’am. Sigrid.” She pulls the tie tighter and drags him in, pressing their lips together. He leans into the kiss and groans, forgetting his composure, his dignity, the guilt still at the back of his mind. 

Sigrid catches his jaw in her hand and tilts it up. She’s only an inch away and Steve finds himself unable to lower his eyes. She reaches up to cup his jaw, and then his cheek. Her hand moves higher, grazing through his hair and tugging back slightly. 

“Good boy,” she murmurs. 

Her hand tightens around him and he comes just like that, mouth open and head tilted back to expose his throat. He gasps, a moan catching in his chest that he refuses to let escape. 

Sigrid keeps hold of him until her grip is almost painful. She pulls away, and Steve’s eyes flutter closed. Head bowed, he forces his breathing to even out. She collects a tissue and cleans them both up quickly and efficiently. It doesn’t feel like this was a surprise for her—it’s too practiced, too prepared. He just can’t find it in himself to care. 

“Tomorrow’s mission report is on your desk,” she says, straightening her jacket and moving behind her desk like nothing happened. “I expect to see you at 8 o’clock sharp.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says without thinking, zipping up his trousers and trying to keep his breath even. 

She finishes the scotch on her desk and smiles. “We’re going to change the world, Steven. It’s only a matter of time.” 

“I never doubted you, Minister.” 

Sigrid moves to turn away, but hesitates, looking back at him once more. “And make sure you wear that shirt tomorrow.”

With that, she strides out of the room and leaves the door open behind her. Steve is left still catching his breath, leaning half against the desk. He's not sure whether to feel relieved or sick—so he settles for feeling nothing at all. After taking a long moment to compose himself, he straightens his shirt and leaves her office. 

* * *

_To be an interrogator,_ Steve’s old instructors liked to say, _is to be in a locked room with two sets of secrets—only one of them yours. Make sure you know which._


End file.
